


Misconceptions

by beffany



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lyrium Withdrawal, Modern Era, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-11-04 23:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beffany/pseuds/beffany
Summary: Zara and Cullen had always been rivals, ever since adolescence. She found him too idealistic and naive; he thought she was insensitive and selfish. Training in the same regiment under Zara’s father only grew their hatred, and when Cullen is deployed to Ferelden at 18, they are glad to see the back of each other.Twelve years later, they return to each other’s lives in the most unlikely of places; Val Royeaux, the last place they would have expected the other to be. Forced together by fate, will the two of them ever be able to settle their differences?





	1. A Chance Encounter

Crowds of people were huddled together throughout the room, dancing or chatting or cheering. The lights danced between them all, illuminating faces in pink and purple hues before they become lost in the dim light again. Decorations were hung randomly from the walls and ceiling, balloons and bunting trailing haphazardly from a string. Any available surface was littered with empty bottles and plastic cups, providing a pungent alcoholic smell.

In the corner of the room sat Zara, quiet and contemplative, allowing herself a moment to just observe.

Most of the people here knew each other in some form or another, judging by the way they would casually drift between groups. That, or they were drunk enough that they didn’t care. The party had thinned slightly in the hours since she had and Cassandra had arrived, but the room was still happily filled with people, and loud jeers from the kitchen indicated more could be found elsewhere. It should have been easy enough to insert herself among a group, to become familiar with their names and faces, to let herself enjoy their company for the night – but nerves kept her back, resigned to sit on the sidelines until someone approached her.

But she was a stranger here to most – Josephine and Leliana were the only two Cassandra had formally introduced her to, and they had disappeared a while ago. Watching others have fun wasn’t her original plan for the night, but it’s where she found herself, same as always. She swirled and sipped her wine wearily, scanning the room for someone, _anyone_ to talk to, and that was when she spotted him.

On the other side of the room, quietly observing the crowds just as she was, stood a stoic-looking man with a familiar face. His hair was smoothed, no longer the mess of wanton curls of his youth, and he seemed much broader than she remembered, but his eyes, his nose, his serious expression; it was all undeniably _him_. She could scarcely believe her eyes – Cullen Rutherford, in _Orlais_ of all places. He was standing alone, nursing a beer, and she was overcome with a strange urge to approach. _Bad idea_ , she told herself. _You know that’s a bad idea_.

But she was bored, and her curiosity was piqued. Besides, he was clearly having just as much fun as her at this party – at least it would make their night interesting.

She sauntered over, wearing a smug smile that only grew when he noticed her. A quick look of surprise before he rolled his eyes, groaning, looking decidedly in any direction other than hers. She crossed his path deliberately, forcing eye contact, and sidled against the wall next to him, casually swirling her wine, waiting for him to speak.

“Trevelyan,” he uttered curtly.

“Rutherford,” she slithered, each syllable a delicate sound. “What a surprise to see you here. Last I heard you were still serving in Kirkwall.”

He glanced at her, straight-faced. “I hoped that moving to Orlais would place me further away from you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

She feigned a gasp, amused. “How rude! You’ve finally grown a backbone. Get sick of being Meredith’s lapdog?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be disappointing your father? Why are _you_ here?”

 “I was invited by my _friend_ , thank you. She thought it would be good for me to come and get to know some new people. It’s good to make friends in your new home, isn’t it?”

“Maker, don’t tell me you’re moving _here_?” He made a noise of disgust, dramatically leaning his head back against the wall.

“Well, don’t be _too_ excited. I only moved in last week.”

He turned to her, deadpan. “Good. Not too settled for you to leave, then.”

“Ha! When did you learn to backtalk, Cullen Rutherford?”

The man in question neglected to respond, opting instead to take a long swig of his beer.

Outwardly she had maintained her composure perfectly, her smirk never quite leaving her face, just like all those years ago. But internally, she was struck. Andraste preserve her, he had made a _joke_. As unhappy as he was to see her, his confidence preceded him. When they were young, he would meet her quips with silence, always straight to the point. He had changed, and secretly, a small part of her was glad for it.

Cassandra came over to them then, a wide grin on her face. The drink had tinged her cheeks pink, and she seemed much merrier than normal.

“Cullen!” she called out. “You’ve found my friend! I was going to introduce you two, this is – “

“Zara Trevelyan. I know,” he muttered. His unamused manner was lost on Cassandra. “Cassandra’s the one who invited you here?” he asked Zara indignantly.

“Obviously, she’s the only one here I know.” Zara crossed her arms defiantly before turning to Cassandra with a concerned look. “Cass, I don’t think you can drive me home in this state. Where are your keys?”

“Of course not! I gave them to Leliana, to be sure.” She nodded at herself proudly.

Zara deflated visibly.

“Leliana left ages ago, Cass! I don’t know how to get home!”

Cassandra thought for a moment. Her eyes widened, squeezing Cullen’s arms. “You only live around the corner from each other! Cullen, you can walk her home, can’t you? Rue de Boulangers, only a minute or so from yours.”

“I don’t know if that’s –“ Cullen tried to make an excuse, but Cassandra was adamant.

“Thank you, Cullen. I’ll make it up to you, Zara, I promise!” She grinned, turning back to return to a cheering crowd of very athletic looking men.

Zara stood dumbfounded, shoulders hunched with a disappointed look on her face. Silence fell between her and Cullen, who shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet. She turned to him again, scowling.

“There is no way in hell you are walking me home.”

 

 

 

An hour later, Cullen was walking beside a very disgruntled Zara, hands shoved deep in his pockets. It was the middle of the night in Wintermarch, and even in Orlais the weather was relentlessly cold. She had neglected to bring any coat to the party and was hugging herself for warmth, muttering angrily to herself every now and then. Between the temperature and the man stood beside her, the scowl had not left her face.

It had certainly been a surreal night for Cullen. Of all the ‘wonderful women’ Dorian had promised he could meet at the party, he certainly did not expect his childhood rival to be one of them. He had noticed her from the minute she arrived, of course – someone like Zara Trevelyan did not simply walk into a room without commanding attention – but he had avoided her for most of the night, blending into the background with ease. Some of his friends had commented on the mysterious woman in passing, asking around if anyone knew her, but Cullen had stayed silent. He had little desire for his past and present to interact, and Zara was someone he had definitively placed in his past.

But here she was beside him, hardly changed. Physically, she was different – fully grown now, just as he was – but her mannerisms, that smug smile she wore, it was all the same. How exactly she became friends with _Cassandra_ was beyond him. He had never taken Cassandra to have a bad judge of character but being so close with Zara Trevelyan to invite her to Dorian’s party was surely a mistake. The Zara he knew had nothing in common with Cassandra, and tonight had done nothing to prove otherwise.

Cullen noticed her chattering her teeth and shivering, rolling his eyes. How very _Zara_ to forget such a necessity. He took pity on her, despite himself, and began to shrug his outer layer off.

“Zara, take my coat,” he began. “I’ve got four layers on and you’re obviously freezing.”

“Absolutely not,” she objected.

There was a moment’s pause, and Cullen raised his eyebrow at her.

“Just take the damned coat, Zara.”

She exhaled in defeat. “Fine.” She let him drape his jacket over her and hesitantly hugged it around herself. “I thought Orlais was supposed to be warmer than Ferelden.”

“It’s Orlais, not Antiva. Winter is still Winter. You should have brought a coat.”

“I _thought_ I’d be getting a lift home,” she grumbled.

Cullen sighed. It was going to be a _long_ walk.

“So, what made you move to Orlais?”

She made a face in response. “Don’t act like you care, Cullen.”

“I don’t,” he shrugged. “I’m just trying to make the next twenty minutes bearable.”

“Such a gentleman,” she retorted. “I had to leave my job in Ferelden. Thought Val Royeaux was as good a place as any.”

“You worked in Ferelden?” Cullen frowned. It had been a long time, but the idea of Zara leaving the Free Marches had been unthinkable when they had last seen each other.

“Only for nine years.” She rolled her eyes impatiently.

“I’m just surprised your father let you out of his sight.”

“Well, we can’t all be prized students,” she spat.

“You could have done better if you wanted to, Zara.”

“Oh, piss off, Rutherford. I don’t need you to lecture me about what I should have done with my life.”

“And what _have_ you been doing with your life, exactly?” He eyed her questioningly. “How did you manage to convince your dad to let you work in Ferelden?”

She snapped her gaze to his, her eyes glaring. “I didn’t.”

He cocked his head, frowning again. She continued to glare, daring him to ask more. Floods of memories came back to him of the many times he had witnessed Zara and her father interact, of the cold way in which he would address her, in the way she would shrink herself around him. So rather than saying anything further, he just nodded, and they continued the rest of their walk, in silence.


	2. The Last Time

Sunday was a treasured day in Cullen’s routine. He would drive to Cassandra’s, where she would greet him warmly with a throwaway comment on how she was sure he wasn’t getting enough sleep, and walk into the living room to see Bull and Varric draped on one of her sofa’s. They would wave, Varric might make a similar remark about Cullen’s serious expression, and then they would turn their attention back to the TV. The rugby, or football, or whatever game it was for the season would begin, and they would fall into silence. Bull would scoff at the lack of injuries, Cassandra would get distracted and miss half the game, and Varric would constantly on the edge of his seat, anxious for the result of his bets. During half-time, Varric would probably tell another story about his pub downtown, and Bull might even be willing to say why he had been spending so much time with Dorian lately, and after the game, the rest of them would enjoy a beer or two while they chatted. He would go home before too late, feeling a little bit more at peace than when the day began.

But Cassandra had thrown all that out the window by inviting Zara.

He had walked into the living room, but Bull and Varric were too preoccupied with the grinning young woman on the other sofa to take notice. Cullen barely masked his surprise, brows furrowing at the sight of her.

She was much quicker than him. A moment’s glance, a faint hint of displeasure, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, making way for her winning smile as she greeted him like an old acquaintance. He nodded curtly – he had never been as skilled as her at putting on a show – and sat across from her in his usual spot. Varric made his usual remarks, but of course, this time Zara joined in, which made Varric _delighted_ and resulted in far too many questions about her familiarity with him.

They were charmed by her, and she knew it. She fit in here, perhaps more so than _he_ did, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. This wasn’t who she really was, and he knew it. It was an act – most likely done so to piss him off. Well, it wasn’t working, he decided. He was perfectly calm, and soon enough the others would –

“Curly? You in there?” Cullen blinked, cocking his head in confusion. “You going to tell us how you know each other, or what?” Varric smirked.

“Surely you don’t want _me_ to tell the story?” Zara chimed in, turning to him. Her eyes were boring into him, kinder than he was used to seeing, and her voice was much cheerier than the expression on her face.

“Uh, of course. Sure.” He cleared his throat, shuffled in his seat. “It was what, almost twenty years ago? We were thirteen, and Zara was a new student at Ostwick Academy.”

“You went to school together?” Bull asked. Cullen didn’t miss his critical eye flicking between them, clearly suspicious.

“He was a model student, so he got stuck with showing me around.” Zara piqued up. “Poor boy didn’t know what he was getting into, I didn’t make it easy for him. We didn’t speak much after that day, though.”

“Right,” Cullen lied. They had spoken almost daily for the next five years, and Zara must have had plenty of terrible stories of him to share, but she had opted to let it go.

 _Why? Why be kind to me_ now _?_

 

* * *

“You’ve trained years for this, Rutherford. You’ve always been dedicated, always worked hard, never forgotten what it’s all about. You’re going to go far in this life, my boy. I just wish I could be there to see it.” Commander Edward Trevelyan smiled fondly down at Cullen and gave his shoulders a squeeze. He looked at Cullen as if he was saying goodbye to his own son, unable to resist pulling him in for a quick hug before stepping back into professionalism. He saluted, standing tall.

Cullen returned the gesture, smiling from ear to ear.

Edward looked back at his daughter standing awkwardly behind him and sighed. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get your dedication to rub off on this one,” he muttered loudly, causing Zara to roll her eyes. “Keep in touch, Rutherford. I know you’ll do me proud.” He turned to walk back into the Chantry, leaving the two of them alone.

 _This will be the last time I see you,_ Cullen thought, finally meeting Zara’s gaze. He figured the feeling would be… happier than this.

“Congrats, Rutherford.” She sauntered over, her confidence returning in the absence of her father. “You made the team. How’s the lyrium treating you? You feel _strong_ yet?”

In truth, he did. He could feel it in his veins, in his teeth, newfound energy feeling restless within his body. It gave him a strange resonance between himself and Zara, but he couldn’t for the life of him place what caused it.

None of this he was about to tell _her_ , however.

“You could have made something of yourself, Zara. You don’t have to take your bitterness out on me.” He raised his chin, just to show how _beneath_ him she was.

“You’re still just as naïve as you’ve always been, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life being their puppet,” she spat, but quickly the anger dissipated. Her shoulders dropped as she sighed, her eyes turning sad. “I’m not bitter, Cullen. I pity you. I’d sooner die than be in your position.”

He stared at her, frowning. “Unlike you, I wanted to be here. I’ve always wanted to help people. Now I can go out there and make a difference. Obviously, that’s not something you understand.” He picked up his bag and lifted it onto his shoulder, turning to his car. He loaded his belongings, and took one final look at Zara, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Zara. I don’t know what you’re going to become in life, but I hope one day you can figure out how to make something of yourself. I tried to make you understand, but I’ve failed you.”

She gazed beyond him, eyes watering. “I think I’m the one that’s failed you,” she replied, turning to follow her father back to the Chantry.

 _That was the last time I’ll see you,_ he thought. _And I still don’t understand what you’re about._

 

* * *

 

Zara watched Cullen carefully, trying to be sure he wouldn’t slip up in the lie. It benefitted them both to keep the true nature of their acquaintance secret; he wouldn’t have to suffer her reminding him how awful he was, and she wouldn’t have to explain the true nature of her circumstances. Not even Cullen knew, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him now.

“Wait, so you knew each other at the party? Here I was wanting to introduce you!” Cassandra smiled.

Zara returned the gesture. “Yeah, funny how things work out, right?”

“Wait, wait, wait – if you were at the academy, you must be a templar, right?” Varric asked.

Out the corner of her eye, Zara could see Cullen cock his head in a familiar fashion, obviously curious for the answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I never completed my vigil – far too much of a troublemaker for that nonsense.” She grinned charismatically, paying no mind to Cullen’s reaction. “Once I left, I did some odd jobs here and there - I worked in Ferelden for most of my twenties, you see – and last year, I happened to meet Cassandra out on a job.” Zara winked in her direction. “When my last contract finished up, she offered to recommend me to the Inquisition Trust as an Explosive Ordinance Disposal Expert. Which leads us to my meeting of you two handsome gentlemen,” Zara concluded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen blurted out. All eyes turned to him, surprised at his uncharacteristic outburst. “You’re telling me _you_ work in bomb disposal?

“Surprised? We never really did know each other, did we?” She retorted, hints of venom in her words.

 _If you don’t want your friends to know who you really are, you better shut your mouth_.

Cullen swallowed visibly, his calm demeanour returning.

 “Well, as you said, you were a troublemaker,” Cullen said smoothly, a small curl of his lips.

“That’s pretty badass!” Bull stated, and after a few more questions about her work, the conversation drifted, with Varric gossiping about people she didn’t know.

She relaxed, letting herself take a backseat in the conversation, content to just observe. Seeing how Cullen acted around his friends brought on bittersweet emotions. He had an incredibly dry sense of humour, something she had never been privy to when they were younger, and he smiled more easily than she remembered. But his unease at her presence was clear – to her, at least – despite his best efforts to hide it. She could see it in the quick glances he gave her, in the constant swallowing before he spoke, in the way his hands refused to rest.

He was calmer than she might have expected, however. Unlike him, Zara was well-versed in hiding her emotions, and only the keenest eye might have realised just how equally, if not _more_ , phased she was in his company. By the sounds of it, Cullen’s life had changed drastically – he wasn’t working for her father _or_ Meredith, that much was clear, and he seemed to have a large enough group of friends. Regardless of whatever he was doing with the templars, he had built a life for himself.

Which was more than she could say for herself.

Eventually, evening came and Varric and Bull bid them farewell, driving away in opposite directions. Cullen was still gathering his things in the other room, whilst Cassandra and Zara stood at the front door, looking grimly out into the rain.

“You can’t walk home in this weather, surely,” Cassandra chastised.

“I don’t really have much of a choice, Cass.”

“Cullen!” Cassandra called out behind her. “You’ll drive Zara home, yes?”

“Cass,” Zara began whispering hurriedly, “honestly, that’s not necessary, I can – “

“It’s fine.” Cullen emerged into the hallway, expressionless. “I can drive you.”

His face gave away no hint of annoyance, despite this being the second time in one weekend he would be forced to escort her home. She weighed her options – drowning in the rain for forty-five minutes, or a slightly unpleasant car journey.

“Alright,” she breathed. “Thanks.”

After saying goodbye to Cassandra, Cullen led Zara to his car parked outside. It was predictably spotless but otherwise unremarkable, a modest model.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air between them as Cullen started the car, and Zara found herself restless under the weight of the many burning questions.

“What?” Cullen asked flatly.

“Huh?” She whipped her head to face him, taken by surprise.

“You’re fidgeting.”

“I am not.”

Cullen merely raised an eyebrow in her direction before turning his attention back to the road. Zara blew out a breath as she deliberately spread her hands over her thighs, trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

“Your friends are… nice,” she began. Cullen hummed in agreement. “You guys do that every weekend?” Another hum, slightly more annoyed than the last. “I didn’t mean to – “

“Maker’s breath, Zara, what is it?”

“I didn’t know you would be there today. I’m not trying to encroach on your space. I won’t come again.” She said quickly.

“I don’t think it matters,” he scoffed. “Cassandra is our mutual friend, and Varric and Bull loved you, so I’m sure we’ll have to see each other again.”

“Can I ask you something?” He gave her a quick glance, indicating for her to continue. “I just – you aren’t working for my dad anymore, right?”

“No,” he answered slowly. “No, I’m not.”

“So…” she trailed, hoping for more of an explanation. When he didn’t give one, she continued. “Are you serving in the Grand Cathedral, then?”

“I’m… not serving anywhere, actually.”

She blinked. “You were discharged?” Her eyes widened in shock. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! The templars must be really fucked if they’re – “

“No, no! Zara, I _left_.”

“Left?” She frowned. Of all reasons she might have expected Cullen to have given for being in Val Royeaux, _that_ wasn’t one of him. Through the years in the Academy, no one had ever been so blindly dedicated to the templars as him – it was one of the reasons she had hated him so. He had constantly preached about the good work they did, the responsibility they had of protecting people, how honoured he would be to one day join them, and yet something had changed. She had never heard of anyone leaving by choice – the Templar Order kept their soldiers on a tight leash, lest they reveal the unsavoury side of the so-called _peacekeepers_. And Cullen… Cullen had been the most passionate recruit she had ever known. “But… people don’t just _leave_ the templars, Cullen. Not by choice.”

“Not normally, no,” he agreed sadly.

“But you did?”

“Yes.”

“And the lyrium… You have a source, I assume?”

He grew visibly uncomfortable, which she could have expected – any way Cullen would be getting lyrium now would be highly illegal, and he had always loved rules.

“Uh, right.”

She stared at the man before her, trying to match him up to the boy that had driven away from her all those years ago. A prized student, her father’s favourite, the pride and joy of their class – and here he was, the only person she knew of to have ever successfully left the templars.

 _Well, successful for now_.

She shook her head of the thought as another question burned within her.

“Does Edward know?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Probably. We haven’t spoken in a long time. Any other personal questions?”

She smiled, despite herself.

“If you aren’t a templar, what the hell are you doing in Val Royeaux?”

He cleared his throat, straightening his back. “I’m training to become a solicitor, actually.”

“No shit!” she grinned with amusement. “When did you start that?”

“When I left, about three years ago. Had to do a conversion course, then take my LPC, now I’m eight months into my training contract.”

“Huh,” Zara mused. “Weird.”

She grew quiet, contemplating the wave of information. Cullen Rutherford, no longer a templar, no longer the apple of her father’s eye. So much had changed for him, and although she would be hard-pressed to admit it, she was glad it was for the better.

Of course, comparing it with herself… Nothing had changed for her. She was still the disappointment of her family, still on the run, with no real connections to speak of. She had left any friends she had in Ferelden, and although she and Cassandra were close, she couldn’t be bothering the woman every time she felt a little bit lonely.

Which was more often than not, these days.

Before long, Cullen pulled up outside her house, one of many in a row of terraces. She made to get out, but before she fully shut the car door, she turned back to him, desperate to ask one last question.

“Just – I have to ask. What the hell happened? What made you leave?”

In an instant, his smile faded, and his eyes turned cold.

“We’re not talking about that,” he stated firmly. “You’re the last person in this world I would talk to about _that_.” He reached over, pulled the door shut in her face, and drove off around the corner without another word.


	3. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter has mentions and brief descriptions of child abuse. Please read with caution.

 “Cullen, my boy!” An authoritative voice bellowed out across the hall, and Cullen whipped his head round in an immediate search for the source. Commander Edward Trevelyan stood at the doors, waving him over, accompanied by a girl Cullen hadn’t seen before. A new student?

Cullen approached, an inquisitive look on his face. “Yes, sir?”

Edward had his hands on the shoulders of the girl and gently ushered her forward. “This here is my daughter, Zara. As of today, she will be joining your class, and I was hoping you would be able to help ease her transition.”

The resemblance was difficult to place – her skin was a darker tone than her fathers, and her face was covered in freckles. But it was there, in the eyes – large and expressive, a deep green. She might have been pretty, if not for the way she seemed to be permanently scrunching up her face.

It was a struggle to hold back his surprise – Edward had spoken at large about his two sons, but Cullen couldn’t once recall him mentioning her. “Of course, sir.” He smiled kindly at her, but her scowl remained steadfast.

Commander Trevelyan bent down to her ear, almost yanking her shoulders back to him. “It’s your first day, darling. Do try not to disappoint.” And with that, he released her, turning abruptly and leaving. Zara rolled her eyes in his absence.

“Cullen Rutherford,” Cullen stated, holding his hand out in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t realise he had a daughter.”

Zara pulled her head back to sneer at his outstretched hand. “Yeah, most don’t.” She brushed past him, a new air of confidence without her father’s presence. “So, this is it, huh?”

Cullen blinked at her rudeness but followed regardless. “This is it?” he echoed questioningly.

“Heard about where my dad worked for years but managed to avoid it till now. Less impressive than I thought.”

“Right, well…” Cullen cleared his throat, off-put by her nonchalant tone. He had shown around new students before, but normally they were more receptive than this. “This hall is where some of our hand to hand training sessions take place. Out that door is the yard, where the drills are. I can show you where our normal classes are, too, if you – “

Zara turned to him with an exasperated expression. “You’re very keen, aren’t you? Look, it’s a waste of time trying to get me interested in any of this. I don’t want to train, I don’t want to study the Chant, I don’t want to become a templar. You can just show me to the girls’ dormitory, thanks.”

He stared for a moment, dumbfounded. Confusion gave way to anger, heat rising in his face. “Why are you even here then? Some people have had to compete for scholarships, fight tooth and nail to be here, and you don’t even care? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Are you thick? My dad put me here, obviously. If it were up to me, I’d be anywhere else.”

“But Ostwick Academy is – I don’t understand. Why would you not want to be a templar? Don’t you want to help people when you grow up?”

“Not like this, I don’t. I’d rather not grow up into a Chantry puppet.” She turned her nose up as he reeled back from her words.

“No wonder he never talks about you. You can get someone else to show you to your room.” Cullen turned to leave, angered – how could someone be so ungrateful?! But she coughed, gaining his attention once more.

“You may not like me, but I’m still _his_. Rooms, please.” She gave a faux smile, hands on her hips as she waited impatiently. Clearly, she was spoilt too.

“You are a real piece of work, you know that?” Cullen muttered as he begrudgingly began to lead her to the dormitories.

“With any luck, Cullen, I’ll be out of here in a month, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

 

Cullen had never been very lucky, after all. Six weeks later and Zara remained, and she had only become more and more annoying each day. Maths, Literature, Science – she paid attention, was a pleasant enough classmate, even favoured by some teachers. But anything regarding the Chantry, or Templar specifics, and she became a nightmare, and somehow Commander Trevelyan had ensured it was Cullen’s job to try and reel her in. Zara was convinced that any day would be her last, that soon she would be out, but day after day she still appeared in the mornings, slightly more miserable looking than before. She hadn’t made any effort to make friends with their other classmates, only ever speaking to Cullen. He was reaching the end of his tether.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and they were training in martial techniques. Once again, Zara was paired with Cullen, and she plopped herself happily on the training mat next to him as the teacher demonstrated the day’s moves.

“You think his hair’s greasy, or just wet?” She mused under her breath.

“Be quiet.” Cullen whispered harshly.

“You never let me have any fun.” He could see her pouting at him out the corner of his eye.

“We’re not here to have fun. I’m trying to listen.”

She sighed loudly, garnering a few looks from nearby students, and fell back onto the mat, arms outstretched lazily. Cullen rolled his eyes at the display.

“Zara, now is not the time for a nap. Up!” The demonstrator bellowed. He narrowed his eyes towards them as she made no indication she was about to move. “Cullen, sort your partner out.”

Cullen muttered something incomprehensible, pulling her arm harshly up. The rest of her body followed heavily, and when she dramatically rolled her head forward, she met Cullen’s eyes with a scowl. The demonstrator nodded and returned to his lecture.

“Can you just be normal for ten minutes?” Cullen breathed.

“Nothing about being here is _normal_ , Cullen.” She replied. He made a face, not understanding what she was talking about, but she was thankfully quiet for the rest of the demonstration. He silently hoped she might engage in practicing herself.

But of course, that would be far too much to ask.

“Zara, just hit the bag,” Cullen pleaded, eyeing her as she pretended to hit just about anything else.

She turned to him with playful eyes. “Any bag?” she chirped.

“No, I – “ Cullen sighed in defeat as she ran over to another mat, interrupting two students training, and began punching the bag between them in quick succession. Before they had a chance to get her away, she ran to another, and another, causing disruption throughout the class. Their demonstrator turned bright red, furious.

“Zara Trevelyan!”

The shout didn’t come from him, however. All eyes turned to the left side of the hall, stunned into silence by Commander Trevelyan’s fury. Even Zara stopped in her tracks.

“Class is over. Everyone except Trevelyan and Rutherford, leave. Now.”

Cullen’s heart started racing. He had never been in trouble with the Commander before – would he even be willing to listen to Cullen’s side? He hadn’t done anything, after all – he couldn’t be punished because of Zara’s antics, could he?

In his panic, Cullen had barely noticed Zara was now trembling, head hung low and uncharacteristically quiet.

Commander Trevelyan walked over, silent except for the clack of his boots against wood. His arms were folded behind him, a cold air of authority permeating from his being. He needed no words to command Zara to follow him as he walked past her over to where Cullen still stood on the training mat, holding onto the punching bag. He smiled kindly at Cullen, before roughly ushering Zara onto the mat.

“I do apologise, Cullen. I’ve placed quite the burden on you, haven’t I?” Cullen remained quiet, unsure whether to agree. “Zara here has always been considerably more difficult than her brothers. Always unwilling to learn.” His eyes turned to his daughter, all sympathy fading abruptly. “Zara, you’ve been spoken to about your behaviour. You’re embarrassing me. I bring you into this school, and you have spent every minute shunning the opportunity you’ve been given.”

“I want to go back to Mum’s,” she said meekly. Her father raised an eyebrow.

“You still think that’s an option? It isn’t. You squandered every chance given to you. You are going to train here, and you are going to become a templar. There is no negotiation.”

“I don’t want to be a templar! Mum told me what they really do! I don’t want – “

“You don’t want to help people, Zara?” Her father asked, daring her to say no.

Whatever Cullen was witnessing now was making him uncomfortable. This was a private matter, and he didn’t want to be any more entangled in Zara’s business than he had to.

“You’ve interrupted Cullen’s chance to train. I asked Cullen to help mentor you because he is a top student, and all you’ve done to repay his kindness is cause him to neglect his own studies. Hold the bag, Zara.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment Cullen thought she would defy him, but she nodded and held the bag steady, readying her stance for impact. Cullen looked between her and her father.

“Go on, Cullen. Show me what you saw today.”

It took a moment for Cullen to respond, shocked by the request. He postured himself in front of the bag, took a moment to compose himself, and re-enacted what he had been shown with near perfect precision. A high kick, followed by two swift punches, and another punch to knock the target out. He deliberately held back his strength, and Zara still wobbled in holding the bag still, almost being hit in the face with the recoil. Commander Trevelyan nodded silently, before gesturing for Cullen to repeat the demonstration.

And so, he did, with the same amount of strength as before. Zara managed to hold on better this time, but Cullen could tell it was taking considerable effort.

“Harder. You won’t learn if you don’t utilise your full strength.” Sir Trevelyan said from the side with an unreadable expression.

Cullen looked between him and Zara, not missing the nervous look in her eyes, but did as he was told. Not quite fully letting go, but enough that she had to dodge out the way of the bag as it bounded forward towards her.

“Hold it still, girl!” her father yelled. He lowered his volume for Cullen. “Again. I’ve seen you hit harder than that before.”

Cullen hesitantly readied himself again, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He looked to Zara, searching her eyes, and she gave him the smallest of nods. He swallowed and unleashed his full strength on the punchbag, and on the last swing, Zara fell backwards, facing the full impact of the blow. Cullen reached hurriedly for the bag, pulling it away from her so it would not reel into her again.

She was rubbing her nose, and her eyes were watering from the sting, yet her father had not finished.

“Without the bag, boy. It’s holding you back.”

Cullen couldn’t mask his reluctance, his jaw almost dropping to the floor.

“But sir – “

“Now, Cullen. If she was paying attention, she should know how to counter it.”

Cullen breathed heavily, the sickness coming in full force now. He searched Zara again, but she held no surprise in her face – only dead-eyed resignation. She pulled the bag out of the way between them, taking a deep breath before readying herself in front of him. Her eyes would not meet him.

“Do as he says, Cullen,” she murmured.

And so, he did. She blocked his kick, to his surprise, countered his first punch, but misplaced her arm on the second, leaving herself vulnerable to the final punch. He did not use his full strength, he couldn’t, but it was still enough to knock her to the floor.

A moment passed where she did not get back up.

But her hands spread themselves on the floor, and finally, she pushed herself up, breathing heavily as she neglected to meet the eyes of either of them.

Cullen looked to her father, begging silently for him to do something, _anything_. But the Commander was stoic as ever, looking down at the crumpled heap that was his daughter with nothing but disgust.

“I am glad to see your skills are as sharp as ever. You’ll make a fine templar yet.” He paused, eyes drifting from her as if he was growing bored. “If only you could be more like him, Zara.” And with that, he turned away, the clacking of his shoes the only sound to fill the silence he left behind him.

Once the doors had slammed shut, Cullen broke out of his trance and rushed down to Zara. Tears were staining her cheeks, and blood dripped from her nose and lips. He tried to help her up, but she shoved him away, standing up abruptly.

“Zara,” he attempted, guilt and confusion and anger overwhelming him.

“Don’t,” she uttered harshly. “Just, don’t.” She wiped the blood from her mouth, staring at the stain it left on her sleeve before she met Cullen’s eyes. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, templar.” And just like her father, she turned away as if nothing happened, and Cullen was left alone.


	4. Something Familiar

Cullen awoke in a cold sweat, his mabari licking his face relentlessly between concerned whimpers. He sighed deeply, reaching out to rub Calenhad’s ears to signal he was awake and okay. The specifics of his nightmare were quickly fading from his memory, but flashes of Zara’s bloodshot eyes and bloodied nose still ran uncomfortably through his head.

 _Just another thing to regret_.

With a groaning effort, he sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Calenhad sat obediently at his feet, tail wagging gently behind him.

Cullen’s bedroom was a modest setting. The walls were a faded grey, untouched from the last tenant who lived there, and the only furnishings were his bed, a bedside table bought for him by his sister, and a large chest of drawers, the only storage he needed for his small collection of clothes.  Any décor was few and far between – a lone clock hung on the wall, batteries long run out, and the only sign of sentimentality was a single photo frame featuring a grinning group of young men in uniform, arms casually thrown around each other.

Through the hallway, then emptiness continued. The walls here had been painted, largely at Mia’s request, covering what had previously been a garishly patterned wallpaper. A few photos adorned the walls this time; a young smiling boy, with a mess of ginger curls; Cullen woefully smiling between two grinning women with blonde waves falling over their shoulders; Cullen sat across from a man with similar features, cards scattered over the table between them. They had been placed lovingly in a picturesque arrangement, out of place among the rest of his belongings.

He made his way to the kitchen-living room, the only room that had any indication of really being lived in. The sofa was littered in blankets which, to a keen eye, would be revealed to be covered in dog hair. A basket of toys sat next to the TV stand, some well-loved teddies overflowing onto the floor around it. Past the living-room area, the fridge was covered in various letters and reminders, including a wedding invitation from his youngest sister that he had yet to respond to. A polaroid picture of him and Cassandra was featured prominently next to a faded post-it, reading ‘ _You can do this!’_  in an elegant script. He had rolled his eyes at it originally, but he had to admit it gave him comfort from time-to-time.

He looked out the window over the sink as he poured himself a glass of water. The sun was just coming over the horizon, illuminating the dark blue sky and highlighting the clouds.

It had been a week of mornings like this. Mornings where he would wake up and the last memories of his dreams would be her, in some form or another. Some would be flashes of when they were young, mischievous green eyes, quickly replaced with tear-stained cheeks and a bloodied nose; some would be from their last months in the Academy, the bitter resentment he saw in her eyes, the many angered words they exchanged as she objected everything he held dear.

Seeing Zara again had thrown him off-balance. The initial hatred reignited as soon as he saw her face, but he quickly realised that those feelings had long faded. Because she was right, Cullen realised – everything she had predicted about his future had come true. The hatred he had was not for her, but for himself, and she only served as a reminder of all his faults. It was what caused him to slam the door in her face – if he was to tell her why he left, it would mean admitting to her that she was right, and he could only dread to think of the smug look on her face.

 _She hasn’t changed in the slightest_ , he told himself. Still just as self-righteous, just as self-serving – not telling his friends the truth was a method of self-preservation, thinly wrapped to Cullen as kindness. He could see it clearly now, away from her pleading eyes convincing him otherwise. How quickly she had skimmed over the fact she had neglected to complete her vigil – explaining _that_ might require her to admit she had faults, which if course Zara Trevelyan was incapable of.

He’d repeated this argument to himself almost daily, and still had not managed to convince himself entirely. The happiness in her voice when she asked about his law degree, the concern on her face when she thought he’d been discharged; he knew deep down he had not imagined them.

_“We never really did know each other, did we?”_

He supposed she was right.

He returned solemnly to his bedroom in time to hear a _ding_ sound from where under his sheets. He fumbled around, searching for the device that sounded it, having to shift Calenhad to retrieve it from under his belly.

_Mia: 06:43am_

_Did you find out whether you could get Wintersend off work? Don’t ignore this, I’ll know._

Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck out of guilt. He hadn’t even asked, and it was far too late notice to do so now.

_Cullen: 06:44am_

_Couldn’t get it off, sorry._

The response was immediate.

_Mia: 06:44am_

_Of course you couldn’t_

As always, his sister saw straight through him. This wasn’t the first time he would be missing a family get-together, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. He needed to make it up to her, desperately, and so he did the only thing he could think of.

_Cullen: 06:45am_

_Why don’t you visit for Summerday?_

He immediately regretted the decision.

 

 

Later that day, elsewhere in the city, Zara kicked the last empty box into her storage cupboard with reckless abandon. She turned to face the room, ignoring the faint crash she heard from behind her as she looked proudly onto her surroundings. Only two weeks and she had finally unpacked the last of her belongings.

Not that she had brought a lot with her in the first place, but that was beside the point.

The living room was small but cosy, several colourful blankets thrown across the sofa, accented with a hefty array of cushions. A rug that had been far too expensive for her liking covered most of the wooden floor, thick wool cushioning her feet. She had foregone buying a television, instead opting to decorate the room with impressive looking bookshelves that she looked forward to filling. A pile of photos lay on the coffee table, patiently waiting to be framed.

She walked out into the hallway, tracing her hand along the wall as she went. It was a small house in general, but she had made it hers. She took in her entranceway, at the haphazard way she had thrown her shoes onto the rack, smiling to herself. She smiled less when she looked at the large coat still hanging on her coat rack but shrugged off the unpleasant reminder.

If there was one word to describe how she had decided to decorate, it was busy. Her kitchen-diner took up most of the ground floor, with any and all wall space decorated with photos, works of art, or shelves littered with keepsakes and cacti and strange statuettes. The table adorned a large vase of flowers, mostly wilted now, sent from her brother. Large windows let the afternoon sun wash over the room, uncharacteristically warm for the time of year.

Cassandra had teased that she had filled her house with junk, but Zara didn’t care. She was glad to have a place of her own, to have the liberty to fill it with ridiculous, pointless decorations that served no function of their own.

Her phone rang, vibrating loudly on the kitchen table.

_Alexander calling…_

She frowned as she picked up. She hadn’t been expecting a call from her brother for a few weeks.

“Hello?”

“You could stand to sound a bit less enthused, Zee,” her brother deadpanned.

“Is it safe for you to call me right now?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Relax, I’m in Kirkwall for the weekend. Got called out to help with some alienage shite. Dad’s still in Ostwick.”

“Alienage shite?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow to herself.

“Some Chantry mother panicked about a ‘dangerous blood mage’. It’s a load of crap, but we’re here nonetheless.” She heard him sigh over the phone. “Are you okay? How’s Val Royeaux?”

“I’m good, it’s good,” she replied dreamily, fiddling with the wilted petals on her table. “The job is a lot of work, but I’m glad to just be behind a desk rather than out in the field.”

“Better busy than dead.”

“Better busy than dead,” she agreed. “Cassandra’s introduced me to some of her friends. There’s a dwarf, some guy with a moustache… Oh! One of them is this massive qunari bloke – you’d love him.”

“Anyone interesting?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, groaning. “No, Alex. I haven’t got time for that right now.” She paused for a minute, her eyes widening. “Speaking of interesting, Alex, did you say you were in Kirkwall?”

“I did…”

“You won’t believe who I’ve bumped into down here.”

“The Empress of Orlais?” he answered flippantly.

“No! Cullen Rutherford.”

“Cullen? Your little friend from the Academy? The one that Dad liked?”

“I mean, _not_ my friend, but yeah, him.”

“Huh. I saw he wasn’t stationed here anymore, but I didn’t think he’d agree to be reassigned to Orlais.”

“He wasn’t reassigned. Alex, he says he _left_. By choice.” She flopped down onto a chair, tucking her knees up to her chest. “I thought it was bullshit, but I asked Cassandra and she said it was true. Said she knew him when it happened. No one will tell me why, though.”

“Zara, I’m not going to ask around Kirkwall – “

“I wasn’t going to say that!” she lied.

“I’m not leaving too if that was your next suggestion.”

“No!” she lied again, disappointed.

Alex hated being part of the templars. She had hoped that hearing of someone leaving would at least be inspiring to him, but she shouldn’t have been so optimistic.  Alex was less controlled by their father than their eldest brother Ethan, willing to stay in touch with Zara despite Edward’s warnings, but he had a hold on him still. Leaving the Templar Order would mean being disowned from the family. It meant being on one’s own, leaving behind everything one might have known. She was all too familiar with the fear it came with.

“Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you in a few weeks, okay? Keep yourself safe.”

“Wait, Alex -” her protests were met with a high-pitched beep.

She chucked her phone onto the table, hugging her knees closer to her chest. As grateful as she was for the few times they could speak, it always left with her with a new wave of loneliness, a reminder of what she had to leave behind.

Her phone buzzed again, and she retrieved it with haste.

_Cassandra: 15:02pm_

_Going to Varric’s tavern later with Bull and Dorian. Join us?_

“Better than being alone,” Zara muttered to herself.

_Zara: 15:03pm_

_Sure. I’ll meet you around eight?_

 

 

As could have been expected for a Saturday night, the pub was heaving. The Tavern was a hotspot for foreigners in Val Royeaux where those not used to the typical pompous décor of Orlesian establishments could gather, largely thanks to Varric’s ownership. Zara was blown away by just how much it reminded her of the Free Marches. The usual blues, whites and golds that made up most Orlesian architecture were replaced by browns and reds, the marble replaced for waxed wooden floors. It made the place feel somewhat familiar in a city that was otherwise so strange to her.

She moved through the crowd, frantically searching for a familiar face. Before too long, Cassandra caught her eye, waving her down to a table in a surprisingly quiet corner of the room. Zara raised an eyebrow at the group, indicating to the empty tables around them.

“Chargers are going to be joining us. I’ve been scaring off anyone who comes by,” Bull said, leaning back with a smug grin.

“Got to put your assets to good use, I guess,” Zara teased, nodding at his impressive horns as she sat opposite.

“Don’t get him started, _please_.” Dorian was hunched over a wine glass with a disgusted look on his face. “Doesn’t Varric have anything better than this swill? I thought he had some Antivan brandy imported in.”

“You ordered it, did you not?” Cassandra asked impatiently, folding her arms. “ _Anyway_ , Zara, we are glad to see you.”

“She was worried we scared you off after Thursday night,” Dorian stated, referring to a particularly eventful dinner at Cassandra’s, in which Zara had been witness to an intense debate about some romance novel.

“I was not!” Cassandra turned pointedly at him, protesting indignantly. “If she was going to be scared off, it would have been because of _your_ complaining!”

The two of them began bickering amicably, and Zara merely placed her elbows on the table, resting her head on her clasped hands as she observed with an amused smirk. Iron Bull caught her eye, sharing a look that caused her to chuckle, breaking their attention away.

“Why don’t you two go get Dorian another drink? Cass can fight her way to the bar for you,” Bull winked at Dorian.

“In that case, I’ll have that ‘swill’,” Zara said, grabbing Dorian’s glass from him without hesitation.

Dorian muttered some Tevinter curse under his breath and pushed himself up and away from the table. Cassandra followed suit, promising to buy drinks for the two that remained.

“They always like that?” Zara asked casually, watching Cassandra elbow her way to the bar and disappear into the crowd.

“Eh, sometimes.” Bull shrugged. “They’re good friends, even if they fight.” He paused to take a sip of his ale, eyeing her across the table. “You see Cullen this week?”

“Cullen?” She cocked her head, squinting at him. “Why would I have seen Cullen?”

“You used to know each other, right? You’re not interested in rekindling anything?”

It was the first time in years anyone had accused her of having _that_ kind of relationship with him.

“It wasn’t like that,” she answered honestly, shaking her head. “If it wasn’t clear, we didn’t exactly get along.”

He had taken a remarkable interest in the bottom of the ale jug, inspecting it intensely. “There’s more to it than that. The way you look at each other – a tell-tale sign of being familiar with one another.”

She didn’t bother hiding her surprise. “Is it now? You’re certainly observant.”

“I used to be Ben-Hassrath. Old habits,” he added calmly. “Not a romantic history, then. Something bad happen? You guys can pretend it’s nothing, but if you’re going to be hanging around us a lot then the rest of them will realise eventually.”

She stared him down, forcing him to meet her eyes. It wasn’t a threat, she realised – he was trying to do her a favour.

But it was a favour she wasn’t quite ready for yet.

“We’ve all got skeletons in our closet, Bull,” she said sadly, turning away at the sound of Dorian and Cassandra returning.

“You know, I asked Varric about his wines and he had the audacity to _laugh_ at me!” Dorian cried, sitting down next to Bull dramatically. Cassandra handed out the drinks she was carrying before following suit.

“Why you would think _Varric_ would know anything about wine is beyond me,” Cassandra groaned.

Their bickering continued, and Zara once again let herself lean back, content to just observe. She didn’t miss Iron Bull’s critical gaze, and when she finally met his eyes again, he gave her a soft smile and a nod, before turning his attention away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thanks a lot. I'm really enjoying writing this and I hope you all are enjoying! <3


	5. An Unfortunate Dinner

It was a rainy evening in Val Royeaux, and the pitter-patter of drops against Zara’s windows made for a cosy ambience in her living room. Her and Cassandra were seated leisurely on opposite sides of her couch, tucked up with blankets and cushions, nursing warm drinks in their hands. It had been a busy Tuesday for them both, and Cassandra had jumped at Zara’s suggestion to come over and talk trashy romance over hot chocolate for the evening. The sun had set, the room dimly lit by a floor lamp in the corner, and they had been giggling non-stop for the past two hours.

“Honestly Cass, he’s my favourite. You know I can’t resist a begrudged romance. The dancing scenes – I can’t take the _tension_ ,” Zara breathed, bringing the back of her hand to her head in an exaggerated fashion before laughing once more and taking a sip of her drink.

“It takes far too long for her to realise she’s in love if you ask me. I want a second book about their life together!”

“That’s the problem with these old novels. Takes far too long to get to the juicy parts, and then they don’t even shag!”

“ _Zara!_ ” Cassandra chastised despite her chuckles. She shook her head in mock disapproval, leaning over to sit her drink on the table. She paused, picking up a picture of two children with ice creams, grinning ear-to-ear at the camera.

“Me and Alex,” Zara told her. “Five and ten, I think.”

Cassandra leaned back, tilting her head at the photo. “You look happy,” she observed.

“I was.” Zara thought for a moment, reminiscing. “Alex and Ethan had taken me out to teach me to ride a bike. Ethan was no help at all, just very matter-of-fact about it, but Alex was really encouraging. He’d hold onto the back of the bike and run with me as I peddled, keeping me stable.” Zara looked to Cassandra, but the woman nodded for her to continue, smiling. “There was a big hill, and Ethan had warned Alex not to let me cycle down it, because he wouldn’t be able to keep up and hold me steady. Of course, Alex didn’t listen, and next thing you know I’m screaming my lungs out because the bikes swaying, and he’s miles behind me, and I don’t really know how to brake. I hit a bump and went flying.” They shared a giggle before Zara carried on. “I’d bumped my head and scraped my knees and I was crying, and Alex felt so awful. I think I was fine after a few minutes but he was so desperate to make it up to me, he took me to the playground and pushed me on the swings and went down the slide with me, and at the end of the day we got ice creams, and Ethan took that picture.”

“He reminds me of Anthony,” Cassandra smiled sadly. “Are the two of you still close?”

Zara shrugged. “I mean, ever since… you know,” she waved her hand dismissively, “we don’t get a lot of chances to talk. Only when Dad’s not around him, which is rarely. He called me recently from Kirkwall, but…” she drifted off, sighing.

“Things will change one day,” Cassandra added sympathetically.

“I can only hope.” Wanting a change of topic, Zara thought for a moment. “Are you going to Dorian’s Wintersend party this Friday?”

 “Maker, I’d forgotten about that. Yes, I suppose so. He invited you himself?” Cassandra asked.

“Should he not have?” Zara teased.

“No, no! I’m glad you’re becoming part of the group. It’s good to see you branch out. You should see if Cullen will drive you, I know he’s going too.”

“Oh, really?” She struggled to hide the disappointment in her voice.

Cassandra cocked her head in surprise. “Did something happen? What’s wrong with Cullen?”

Zara considered lying again, considered continuing to hide their past from her – but if what Bull said was true, wouldn’t it be better to start with the one who knew her best?

“Look, Cass, I need to tell you something. Cullen and I… we were more involved in each other’s lives than we let on.”

Cassandra gasped, slapping her hand to her chest in shock. “The two of you weren’t…”

“No!” Zara interrupted before she could finish the thought. “No, no, Andraste’s tits, nothing like that! We _hated_ each other, Cass. I mean, _really_ hated each other. He was my father’s favourite student and I was… well, me, and Dad had this insane idea that Cullen’s _brilliance_ would rub off on me. We were forced together for everything and just – we made each other miserable.”

“You bickered as children.” Cassandra sounded out sceptically. “And this matters now… why?”

“It… goes deeper than that. My father used to use Cullen to get to me when we were young enough for him to get away with it.” Zara spoke quietly, squeezing her eyes shut at the memories. “He’d make Cullen practice stunts on me, things like that. I don’t blame Cullen, not at all – we were children. But we never acknowledged it, never spoke about it, even when we got older, and it’s left something uneasy between us. Maker, and now he’s left the templars and I feel awful…” She shook her head at the thought of it all.

“Why does that change things?”

“The things I said to him, Cass. I hated the templars _so fucking much_ , and I could never tell him why, because, obviously,” Zara stated, wiggling her fingers at Cassandra. “But he had so much faith in them. He was so naïve, and I used to berate him, do whatever I could to crush his dedication. I used to tell him how no one would ever thank him, how the Chantry was only going to use him, chew him up and spit him out – every time he’d try to lecture me on why I should try harder, I would spit it all back in his face. Tell him everything he was dedicating his life for was a waste of his time…”

“And now you feel guilty?” Cassandra asked without accusation. Zara nodded meekly. “Zara, nothing you said caused him to leave. You shouldn’t feel responsible.”

Easier said than done, Zara thought. It wasn’t that she felt responsible for his departure – whatever events that had led to that decision were still a mystery to her – but that she felt responsible for his having to endure it at all. Her impetuous nature as a child had led to a snap judgement about how to cope with being forced into the Academy, and Cullen had suffered as a result. Had they ever had an honest conversation about their differing beliefs? All communication between them had been laced with vitriol and resentment.

“I feel sick thinking about it, Cassandra. We were children, just being used by a system rotten to the core, and instead of ever taking the time to _explain_ –“

“As you said, you were children. You do not think you can rectify it now?” Cassandra’s voice was kind but firm. Zara was grateful for the lack of judgement.

“You know, when I first saw him at that last party, I just instantly went back to being seventeen. But he’s changed. He’s changed _so much_. Anything I hated about him is gone now, I can see that, but it’s still so hard to talk to him. He still hates me, I’m sure. When he drove me home after the rugby, I thought for a moment we might actually be getting along – but I asked about why he left, and he yelled that I was the last person in the world he would talk to, and slammed the door in my face. I don’t want to fight with him anymore, Cass. I’m so tired of it all. But there’s so much unspoken between us, and I don’t know how to approach it now that we’re grown up.”

“You could tell him the truth,” Cassandra said casually.

“That’s not happening, and you know it.”

“Fine.” Cassandra folded her arms. “You know, Cullen never mentioned any of this to me. He told me about your father, but any parts involving you were left out of it.”

“He was doing me a favour, I guess. How was he to know you were the only other person who knew the truth?” Zara smirked.

“You think he is a good man.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I do.” Zara surprised herself with her own response. “It’s been a long time, and I see everything much clearer now. For a long time, I blamed him too – but Edward used both of us. He just pitted us against each other.”

“Perhaps Cullen had come to the same conclusion?”

“I don’t know. Cullen still holds a lot against me, I think.”

Cassandra squinted at Zara for a moment, thinking. “You should speak to him. On Friday, if not before. It’s only going to be a few of us, so you should be able to get some time alone.” Cassandra held up her hand before Zara could protest. “Try, at least. I think eventually you two will find you have more in common than you believe.”

 

* * *

On Friday evening, an hour before she was due to arrive, she sat at her vanity table, head resting in her palms as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The left side table was covered in makeup products that had been haphazardly brushed from the centre, threatening to fall over the edge onto the floor. The right side featured empty pots and holders, intended to help with organising. Behind them were two photo frames; one featured a young Zara, held up by a smiling woman with kind green eyes and freckles dusted across her nose, looking proudly onto the little girl in her arms;  the other featured her a good few years older, giving the camera a leisurely smile, surrounded by other men and women from all kinds of backgrounds. Closest to her left was a male elf, vallaslin adorned upon his face honouring Sylaise. To her right, a Vashoth woman with scars surrounding her lips. Sat in front was a blonde man with a sour look on his face, dressed head-to-toe in black, and next to him was another elf, grinning with all her teeth. At the very bottom of the photo was a pile of long sticks of wood with strange crystals and orbs, although from the picture it was difficult to discern what they were.

She glanced sadly at the photo, allowing a moment of grief before meeting her own eyes in the mirror once more.

_You could tell him the truth._

No, Zara thought, blinking the suggestion away. She was going to try and make amends with Cullen, but any future where she felt comfortable enough to tell him _that_ was difficult to imagine.  Besides, there was plenty enough for them to fill in about each other’s lives, it would be a while before revealing that side of herself would be necessary. If at all.

Cassandra had seemed so sure that talking to him was the right thing, but now Zara was beginning to doubt herself. Maybe he hadn’t thought anything of her from the minute he drove away at eighteen. Maybe he hadn’t thought anything of their strange relationship as children, content to bury it all under the rug. Maybe all he wanted to do was forget, and trying to bring it all up again would –

No. She needed this. If they were living in the same city, hanging around the same circle of friends, she needed to air it all out. Hear his side of the story, finally. Maybe even gain some validation that what she _thought_ she had endured had all really happened, that she hadn’t imagined the many vicious looks in her father’s eyes.

But would Cullen even have realised? He mentioned that he hadn’t spoken to Edward for a long time, but she had no idea what circumstances it was under. Perhaps they had parted amicably when Cullen left and had drifted apart with time. Even as she considered it, she knew it was highly unlikely her father would ever be pleased with his prized student abandoning the templars.

Her phone vibrated against the table, tearing her away from her thoughts.

_Bull: 19:13_

_Hey, no worries if we’re not there yet, but was just wondering. You speak to Cullen yet?_

She raised her eyebrow at the phone. Her and Bull were becoming fast friends, partly thanks to her appreciation of his straightforward nature, but he had been silent on the matter since that night at Varric’s.

_Zara: 19:15_

_Nope, although our chat did lead me to ask Cassandra for advice. She thinks I should talk to him tonight if I get the chance._

It wasn’t long before she got a response.

_Bull: 19:16_

_Keep it civil. Dorian will be pissed if you ruin his dinner party. He’s been worried about burning the meal all evening._

_Zara: 19:17_

_Noted, big guy. I’ll keep my lips zipped until after the food._

 

 

* * *

Dorian’s far-too-large-to-make-sense dining table was covered in trays, bowls and plates of freshly cooked food, each one in its own state of disarray from the hungry mouths sat around it. Conversation was flowing, drinks were being drunk and poured, but he had trouble focusing on any of it.

It had been a mistake for Cullen to attend. His head had been spinning all day, and being surrounded by his very dear, but very loud, friends had done little to help the situation. Any attempt to focus on any one voice around him proved pointless, as before long it all merged back into one, scratching noise that made it difficult to think rationally. Each clang of cutlery or clink of glass warranted a wince, although he did his best to hide it from the present company.

He could feel Zara’s eyes on him throughout the meal. Never for long, but enough that he had caught her eye more than a few times that evening. She always snapped her gaze away.

How she must be reeling with delight, he thought. She fit in among his friends, seemingly far easier than he did, constantly grinning and laughing, making them laugh in turn. _He_ had been almost silent all night, blending in to the background, a stark contrast to how she seemed to command the room.

 _She knew_. She had to. Why else would she be watching him? Was she marvelling at the pain he felt, at how _untouched_ she was from the templars compared to him? Was she plotting what terrible things she could reveal about him to his friends? What had she already revealed? He knew she had been visiting Varric’s frequently – Dorian had mentioned it at work. Plenty of opportunity to talk behind his back. _How dare she_! How dare she take it all in stride, still walk with her head held high, still walk with that _disgustingly smug grin_ -

 _Calm_ , Cullen though to himself. Only another hour or so, and it would be appropriate for him to leave. He could quite easily excuse himself from the evening early without arousing suspicion from Cassandra if he claimed tiredness from work or having to get up early the following morning. Hold on for an hour, and he could finally escape the relentless sound of _her voice_ –

“Cullen! You’ve barely touched your food. Are you quite alright?” Vivienne’s concerned lilt broke through the wall, her head tilted in observation from where she sat beside him. “You look tired, my dear.”

“Work,” he explained roughly. Clearing his throat, he decided to elaborate, “we’ve had a difficult case come up at work – I’ve been having to put a lot of extra hours in. The lack of sleep is catching up with me, I suppose.”

She tilted her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but relinquished her examination anyways. “Well do try to eat _something_. Dorian will take as a personal insult if your plate remains so full.”

He did as he was told, despite being sure that anything that went into his stomach now would just be thrown up later. He managed a good quarter of his plate before managing to pass it off to Sera, who thankfully seemed to have a bottomless stomach.

Even as plates emptied, the conversation continued, and it was all Cullen could do to stop himself checking his watch, impatiently waiting for an appropriate time to leave. She was still _staring_ with such a strange expression, and Vivienne’s concern was making him uncomfortable, and Cassandra would be sure to notice his shaking hands before long –

“Cullen?”

 _Shit_.

“Pardon?” He flicked his eyes to Cassandra, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Would you mind being on dish duty?” She asked kindly. Dish duty – a good ten minutes on his own, in quiet.

“Of course.” He mustered a small smile, standing up to collect the various plates and cutlery.

He managed to balance just over half of the tableware in his arms, resigning to making two trips. But by the time he had delicately placed the piles by the sink, Zara had followed, the remaining bowls balancing precariously in her arms.

“Sorry, could you – “ she began, nodding to the large bowls in her arms.

Cullen frowned but took them regardless. Even with nothing left to carry, she stayed in the kitchen with him, standing awkwardly behind him as he ran the tap.

“I can do it myself,” he said, stepping away from the sink to put some distance between them.

“I don’t mind helping,” she replied absently, replacing his position in front of the sink and getting to work. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

He watched her in silence, brows furrowed. She was shifting her weight between her feet, washing dishes with an unnecessary vigour, unbothered by his hesitation to help. The pile of wet dishes had reached a considerable height before Cullen came to his senses and joined her.

She smiled at him briefly as he came to her side before her gaze returned to the sink, a small crease in her brow. As he dried the dishes, he didn’t bother to hide his stare, waiting for her to finally speak.

“Do you…” she began, hesitating to finish her thought. “Do you ever think about us? As kids, I mean.” She stilled her hands, turning to him with a guarded expression.

“Not fondly,” Cullen answered, tilting his head away from her, unsure of her intentions.

“No, I mean, what do you make of it now?” she said insistently.

“What?” What could she possibly be getting at? Digging for an apology? An admission of guilt?

Then it clicked.

“Are you really trying to get me to _thank you_ right now? Tell you that you were right about everything? Is that what you want?”

He watched as she recoiled incredulously, giving her best insulted look. “Of course not! Why would you even think that?!”

 _Ha_! As if he could have thought anything else. How long had she been waiting to gloat, he wondered? Perhaps it was as soon as he had told her, or maybe after he refused to give her his reasoning. How she must have positively _bounced_ with glee, knowing that all her predictions had come true. She hadn’t changed at all.

“You must have been waiting all evening to get me alone so you could hear me say it. Are you really going to hold this over me still?”

She pressed her palms to her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Cullen, please listen to me. I’m trying to –“

Her reasoning fell on deaf ears, as Cullen slapped the drying cloth onto the counter and began to pace around the kitchen, staring pointedly at her as he spoke. “I have nothing I want to hear from you, Zara! Is it not enough for you that I had to listen to it for years already? Yes, you were right about the templars not being what I thought. But that gives you no right to come here, worm your way back into my life and throw it all in my face again!” He stopped his pacing, standing directly in front of her.

The rush of adrenaline was pumping through his veins, the heat of anger rising in his body. There were very few times he had _ever_ stood up to her, and the satisfaction of seeing the tables turn was giving him a high he hadn’t felt in a long time. What was it she had said when they were first reunited? ‘ _You’ve finally grown a backbone.’_ Unfortunately for her, he certainly had.

She did her best to hold her head high, despite the terrible turn the conversation had taken. “I am doing nothing of the sort, Cullen.” The way she enunciated his name made him sneer. “You can keep painting me out to be a villain, but I’m not going to take your bait. I’m not _worming_ my way back into your life – meeting you again was pure coincidence. What kind of miraculous plan would that be? What purpose would it serve?”

He threw his head back in an exasperated laugh. “What purpose? For as long as I’ve known you, _you’ve had no purpose_. You spent your youth making me miserable, and that was as much ambition as you ever had. All you ever did was mope after your father…” he paused as realisation dawned on him. “Did he send you? Is that why you’re here? One final kick in the teeth?“ He was virtually snarling down at her, consumed with rage.

She was the picture of bemusement, but even that could not deter him.

“What the fuck?” It was all that she could make out at first, searching his face frantically. “You _seriously_ think this is some elaborate plot by my _dad_?” She was speaking slowly as if to indicate the ridiculousness of his accusation. “You think I would agree to be part of _anything_ to do with him?” She was visibly deflating, shrinking back against the counter. “Why would you – _how?_ ”

A tiny hint of regret was forming at the back of his mind, but he was too far gone to stop now.

“It’s what you all do, isn’t it? You use whatever means you can to hurt your enemies. You were always more alike than you realised.”

He uttered out the last words harshly and instantly regretted them.

Her eyes widened, watering and reddening, as she gave him an empty stare. She had recoiled from him, shrinking into the corner, and he stepped away from her, realising how close they had been.

Cassandra burst through the door at that moment, snapping them both out of their trance. Cullen realised how loud they must have been talking, and felt a rush of embarrassment at the thought of their friends listening in.

“What in the Maker’s name?” she cried, struggling to take in the scene before her.

Zara ignored her, pushing away from leaning on the counter to stand at her full height, which was still a considerable few inches below Cullen’s. She steeled herself, tilting her chin up towards him, setting her jaw.

“I don’t know what he did to you, Cullen, but you know what he did to me. I am not your enemy.”

Before he could respond, she turned and walked briskly out of the kitchen, not stopping even as Cassandra tried to grab her arm soothingly. He overheard Varric begin to ask, “Are you alright?”, but the next sound was the door slamming hard.

He shut his eyes, hoping that the evening would reveal itself to just be another bad dream, but when he opened them again, Cassandra was still staring at him with a cutting look of disappointment.

“You better have a good explanation for this, Cullen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points for anyone who can guess which real-world book Zara and Cassandra are discussing in the first scene!


	6. You Were Wrong

Cullen awoke to sunlight glaring into his eyes. He groaned at the brightness before attempting to bury his face in his sheets, stilling at the sound of a cough from the other side of the room.

“Get up,” Cassandra ordered.

“I thought we talked about you letting yourself in,” he grumbled into the bed, not making any movement to do as she asked.

“I thought we talked about you telling me when you were about to have another episode, but I suppose we both have poor memories these days,” Cassandra countered flatly.

He sighed and shifted to sit up against the headboard. He frowned still at the bright light from his window, barely able to make out the rather stern-looking woman with her arms crossed beside it.

“What time is it?”

She threw a t-shirt at his face before answering.

“It’s noon. I’ve taken Calenhad for a walk this morning since you slept through your alarm.” She walked to the door, not waiting for a reaction. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. You need to eat.”

Cullen winced at his neglect for his dog, somewhat grateful for Cassandra’s lack of boundaries. After a moment of self-pity, he threw his legs over the side of the bed with great effort, rubbing his face tiredly as he tried to recollect the night before.

Once Zara left, he had been hounded by questions from Cassandra but answered almost none of them before leaving himself, driving far too quickly home to send himself to sleep with the bottle of whiskey which now lay empty on the floor by his bedside table. Quite a clear mistake, judging by how his head felt this morning.

He bent down to pick the bottle up and set it down on the table and noticed that the photo of himself and his squadron was turned down. He frowned, surprised, and replaced the bottle for the photo frame, turning it over in his hands.

“Oh,” he breathed aloud, as he found the glass of the frame cracked and splintered over the faces of his comrades. He traced the lines of the breakage with his fingertips, not caring if any glass got into his skin, disappointed that his anger had led him to break one of the few possessions that were precious to him. His tracings followed the various faces; Raleigh, Carroll, Thrask, Delrin and Rylen. Only the latter two remained alive – the rest lost to madness, or lyrium, or blood magic.

He delicately placed the broken frame back onto the table, vowing to replace it as soon as possible, and gathered the energy to get up and do as Cassandra had asked. He threw on the t-shirt she had so kindly given him and shrugged on some joggers he had left on the floor. He gave himself a sniff, skewing his face at the stench. Thank the Maker it was only Cassandra waiting in the kitchen.

He had the decency to stop at his bathroom and brush his teeth, ridding the awful taste in his mouth as best he could before he finally arrived in the kitchen to find Cassandra cleaning some pots and pans. Laid out on his table was a plate with a slice of toast, a fried egg and some bacon, with a tall pitcher of water beside it. She gave him a stern look as he entered, but even she couldn’t help the small tug of her lips as he nodded at her gratefully before sitting down to eat.

Calenhad trotted over from Cassandra’s side to greet Cullen, resting his head on Cullen’s thigh in a somewhat pathetic manner, big eyes staring up at his owner expectantly.

“You’ve forgiven me then, boy?” Cullen mused, pausing his breakfast to scratch behind Calenhad’s ears. The hound merely closed his eyes in peaceful satisfaction, content to be able to finally see Cullen that day.

“What? I’m not – Oh.” Cassandra scoffed in amusement. “You were talking to the dog.”

“I’m sure I have a lot more grovelling to do before _you_ forgive me.” He smirked, despite himself.

Cassandra tutted, abandoning the sink to join him at the table. “You should be grovelling to Zara most of all. Do you remember what you said?”

His smile dropped instantly. “Unfortunately.” He paused, thinking on it for a moment. “Perhaps I was out of line, but the conversation was going nowhere pleasant. It never does with her. I know you are friends with her Cassandra, but there is a lot you don’t – “

“Andraste’s mercy, Cullen, she was trying to make amends with you!”

“What?” He blinked, once, twice “How would you – what?”

“She was trying to put things right between you two, and somehow that led to you accusing her of some conspiracy with her father.” Cullen could hardly recall the last time Cassandra had looked so unimpressed with him. “Her _estranged_ father,” she elaborated.

“Yes, I get it, thank you. That was especially stupid of me.” A flash of Zara’s tearful eyes deepened his shame, but he pushed it to one side for now. “What makes you think she wanted to have a civil discussion? In all the time I’ve known her she’s been –“

Cassandra held up her hand, squinting up to the ceiling in mock thought. “Don’t tell me. She’s been… Smug? Stubborn? Selfish?” Her eyes fell back to Cullen impatiently. “She knows what you thought of her, Cullen.”

“She told you about us?” He frowned, a hint of worry in his eyes. Cassandra knew the worst of him, but that still didn’t make the thought of her knowing his past any less uncomfortable.

“She said you were not on good terms as children, and she wished to address it now that you are adults. Whatever else she revealed to me is between herself and me.” Cassandra stated, indicating no room for protest. Cullen gave a nod of reluctant understanding but couldn’t help the frown that stayed on his face.

“Of course, what she said presumably concerns me as well?”

“Well, you might have known what she said if you had listened rather than… _whatever_ last night’s display was,” she snapped.

Cullen looked down and rubbed in his face in shame. “I – I haven’t been doing well the last few weeks, Cassandra,” he admitted. It took him a moment to continue, but a gentle smile and unassuming patience from Cassandra made it easier. “Seeing her again, having her become so close to the people in my life, it’s been difficult to comprehend. I thought that period of my life was behind me, but right when I thought everything was on track, here she is. I should have told you I was struggling, I know. And I shouldn’t have lashed out at her.”

Cassandra eyed him up and down with an apologetic look. “If I’d known you were in such a dire state, I’d never have encouraged her to speak with you.”

He jerked up in surprise. “You encouraged her? Why?”

“Because I know both of you rather well, or so I like to think.” She simpered for a moment before continuing. “And I think you both need this. The two of you are very similar, you know. If circumstances had been different, you would have been very good friends.”

He sneered dismissively, returning his attention to his breakfast. “I don’t think I’d go that far. She’s –“

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Also my friend, if you’ll remember?”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He gave her a deadpan glare over the table, but she smiled still.

“So? Are you going to talk to her?”

“You think I should?” He asked, half-hoping she would say no.

“Of course. To apologise, if nothing else,” she said with blithe indifference.

“I was worried you would say that,” he grumbled to his plate. She eyed him sceptically, as if she was about to launch another lecture, but must have decided against it as she got up from the table and collected her coat. “You aren’t staying? I was expecting to be told off and made to drink a pint of water every half-hour for the rest of the day.”

“You’ll manage without me, I think,” she winked as she shrugged on her jacket. “If you do go see her, make sure to shower first – you smell like a brewery.”

**

Saturday came and went for Zara, rarely leaving her bed. More than a few texts came through from her newfound friends, but she ignored them all, unwilling to gather the emotional energy to respond. Far too many memories had come flooding back, whether of her father’s misdeeds or Cullen’s words, and they made her feel sick to her stomach. To be compared to such a man – she knew it was nonsense, knew in her heart that she was _good_ , that she was nothing like him. But it hurt, even so.

Sunday morning forced her to arise when a relentless banging sounded from her front door. She would have been happy to stay in bed and wallow for a few more hours, but she forced herself to stand, feeling a little weak at the sudden movement. After a moment she shuffled out of her bedroom and down the stairs, grumbling to herself as she passed her reflection in the entryway mirror; make-up still stained her face, black smudges beyond recognition of the former precision, and her hair was a knotted mess at the back of her head. Still, she continued towards the door, hoping that with any luck, her unkempt appearance would be enough to scare whoever it was off before -

Oh.

“Cullen?”

_Oh._

Despite being the one who had knocked on her door, he still looked surprised to see her.

…Or perhaps it was more that he was surprised to see her in _that state_ , as she at once became acutely aware that not only did she look like a very haggard panda but was also dressed in only a long t-shirt.

 _Shit_.

His eyes quickly snapped up to her face as he realised that he was staring at her legs and opened his mouth as if to say something. Zara waited, but nothing came out. She arched her brow.

“Did you have some reason for banging on my door, or did you just want to stand there like an idiot all day?” She snapped.

 “No – I – Yes –“ He stumbled over his words, looking in any direction other than hers. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, clearly unimpressed. “Let me start over,” he pleaded.

 “I wanted to talk… About Friday night,” he said pathetically. Her lack of response did nothing to help his nerves. “I’ve been an arse, I know. I didn’t listen to you. I’d like a chance to explain – and to hear you out properly, this time. If you’ll allow me,” he added.

“No,” she replied, moving to shut the door without another word. Cullen grabbed it as fast as he could manage.

“Wait!” he cried.

She pulled it back halfway, cocking her head to scrutinise him. His hair was threatening to break into its youthful curls, his eyes were sunken into his skull, and his facial hair had outgrown its usual neatness.

In short, he looked like shit.

“Please,” he whispered.

Zara looked him up and down, stoic as she could manage. Truthfully, a part of her could have happily told Cullen to shove his head up somewhere colourful, and she was in no mood to talk after being woken up. But another part saw how desperate he looked – the pleading eyes, the unsure tone, it all gave her a bizarre kind of hope that something of this strange, twisted association could be salvaged into something new. She had felt that kind of hope before a long time ago, with a different person in a different place.

That kind of hope could be dangerous.

“Alright, fine,” she said after a moment, opening the door and standing aside to let him in. “But I’ve just woken up, and I want to shower first. Wait downstairs for me. And you can make me a cup of tea while you’re at it.”

He walked nervously into her home, following her pointed finger to the room at the far end of the hallway. “Milk, two sugars,” she told him, before racing upstairs to wash.

 

**

As soon as Zara left him alone, he regretted ever coming. This hadn’t been the plan at all – he had hoped she would be awake, _dressed_ at least, and they could take a walk together, talk in a mutual space. This was… not that.

He was in her home, her private space, and it made him uneasy with every step. He walked grimly through the hallway into her dining room, where every space on the wall was taken up by photo frames or personal memorabilia, and he could not help but feel _dirty_ looking at them as if he were some kind of trespassing voyeur and not someone who had been invited into her home.

This was far too personal, far too intimate. It seemed like her whole life was documented on her walls, or the happy parts of it at least, and no matter where he turned, he could not avoid the sight of her face, whether smiling or stoic or smug, emerald eyes boring into the room.  Morbid curiosity took over before too long, and he resigned himself to touring the walls.

The first wall he studied had a lot of pictures of Zara at an age he didn’t recognise her, surrounded by others that he also didn’t recognise. Most of them were taken around campfires or in what looked like small wooden cabins, the individuals in the photos all cramping together for the shot. She was accompanied by the same people often, it seemed; some of the faces changed as his eyes followed along the wall, but a core group remained, huddled with Zara in every photo. A close-up of Zara and one of the group members, a Vashoth woman, caught his eye – the Vashoth had scars across her lips he knew to resemble that of a Saarebas. He had seen enough Qunari in Kirkwall to be able to recognise them. So, Tal-Vashoth then. He wondered how the woman had become friends with Zara.

The next part of the wall still featured a great many photos, but this time they were dotted around several oil paintings of a similar style. They were all of the beautiful sunsets from varying landscapes, valleys and forests and beaches, and gave him a strange nostalgia looking at them. The sensation made him feel awkward, so he moved along.

The pictures and photos gave way to a wall full of shelving at strange angles and shapes, featuring what his sister would refer to as knick-knacks. He would have referred to it as useless crap, but had to admit that he felt a small pang of jealousy for the way Zara had taken ownership of the space. It was a far cry from his almost-clinical looking flat.

Some of the shelves featured a lot of plants – a mixture of cacti, trailing ivy and spider plants – while others featured assorted souvenirs and strange objects that Cullen couldn’t even guess the sentimentality of. He was not nearly as interested in this part of the wall, not understanding where most of the little statuettes were from or what they could represent, and so he almost missed the tiny little vial red vial tucked in the back on a simple silver stand. He paused abruptly, double-taking at the sight of it before he clocked what it was.

Zara had… a _phylactery_? Sitting on her shelf? Cullen shook his head to himself. Phylacteries were an archaic tradition, back when mages had to live in Circles several ages ago, and although it was not _technically_ illegal to have one, the act of taking a mage’s phylactery these days was extremely rare and often thought of as barbaric at best, and could be testified as abuse in court at worst. So why the hell did Zara have one?

He hesitated for a moment, but that same morbid curiosity returned. Meredith had taken a few phylactery’s in Kirkwall, had shown him how they could be used. It had been so long since he had taken lyrium, it was extremely unlikely that he’d be able to feel anything if it was even real. But he yearned to know why Zara had it, longed for a clue of who it belonged to, so slowly, gently, he raised his hand to touch it, closed his eyes in anticipation as he closed his fingertips around it and –

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

It shouldn’t have surprised him – the abilities granted by lyrium were said to wear off almost completely after a year, and Cullen hadn’t taken it in almost three. And there was nothing to suggest this vial was even _real_ , and not just a strange ornament Zara had chosen to decorate her home. But it disappointed him nonetheless and he walked away head whirring with thoughts of it, resigning himself to sit at her table and stare out the large Orlesian-style windows in front of it.

He couldn’t tell how long he had been lost in his thoughts, but eventually, he was broken out of his musings by the sound of Zara bounding down the stairs and strained his neck to see her enter the room.

With her entrance came a pleasant scent that he couldn’t place, and it followed her as she moved through the room. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel on the top of her head, and she was fully dressed this time in leggings and an oversized jumper. Her face was clean of the black make-up that had been rubbed all over her face, and she even offered him a pleasant half-smile as their eyes met.

“You forgot my tea, Rutherford,” she said calmly, hands on her hips as she eyed the table, empty except for the vase of dead flowers in its centre.

His eyes widened and he began scrambling to get up, but she held up her hand and made her way to the kitchen herself. “It’s fine,” she called from around the corner, “I need some breakfast anyway.”

Feeling awkward, he settled back into the seat, sitting unnaturally straight. _This was a mistake_ , he repeated in his head. It was far too personal, far too intimate, and she was acting far too casually for his liking. For not the first time in his life, he longed to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling, what it was exactly that she was hiding behind that careful smile.

Before long she returned, balancing a plate of toast, a mug, a tub of butter and a knife between her arms. She placed them gently on the table, plopped down unceremoniously in the chair on the other side of the table, and, without looking up at him, began her task of buttering her breakfast.

 _This was a mistake_.

Her eyes flickered up to him.

“So, are you going to say something, or are you going to stare at me all day?” she asked nonchalantly.

He blinked. “Right,” he began, clearing his throat. “I… I know I’ve been unfair to you. Cassandra came yesterday morning, and she said that you were just trying to… “

_Make friends?_

“… Have a discussion. I jumped to conclusions, and I had no right to behave like that. I apologise.”

Zara was eating her first slice by this point, sat back in her seat with her knees up to her chest, and her arms resting on top. She raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with her toast for him to keep talking.

“I – Seeing you again has been difficult for me, Zara. That’s hard for me to admit, but it’s the truth. For the last few years, I’ve done all I can to put my past behind me – and that involves my past with you.”

She showed no reaction so far, so he kept going.

“When you turned up out of the blue, and I find out that not only have you moved to Val Royeaux, but also that you’re close with Cassandra, and then all my other friends begin to love you too… It was a lot of _you_ very quickly. I had no idea how to act around you. I still don’t, if I’m honest.” He rubbed his face in exasperation, wondering if he was even making sense at this point. “I decided immediately that I didn’t want to get to know you. I thought I already did. I wouldn’t listen to Cassandra or the others talk about you, because I just assumed that I knew the ‘real’ you. And on Friday, after an evening of being on edge all night, I was becoming paranoid.”

“Paranoid about what, exactly?” she asked, not unkindly.

He shrugged with a grimace. “That you were trying to get under my skin, that you were going to take the only good things in my life away – “

“That I was conspiring with my father?”

His eyes shot up in apology, and for the smallest moment, he thought he saw a hint of the hurt he had caused her. But it went as quickly as it came, and she flattened her expression once more.

“Pretty much,” he agreed. “I… I’m sorry. I know that it’s not true. I don’t know why I even said it, I just knew…” he trailed off, but Zara chimed in with his thoughts anyway.

“You knew that it would hurt me.”

He shut his eyes in shame, hanging his head. That odd feeling in his gut he’d been harbouring for the last few weeks began to return in force. _You were wrong about her_.

“I’ve treated you terribly, I know. Even with everything before, you didn’t deserve it.” He opened his eyes again, hesitating a moment. But he needed to say his piece, no matter how difficult. If this was part of his path to atonement, he would embrace it. “There is so much I would change if I could, Zara. Not just recently. I mean before, at the Academy – “

“Don’t.” She whispered harshly. She inhaled, taking on a calmer tone. “What happened before – we were children. You don’t own any of that, Cullen. It’s all on him.”

They shared a long look of understanding before eventually, Zara turned away. A few short words weren’t enough for Cullen – more needed to be said, more that he needed to seek forgiveness for, even if she didn’t think so. But it was as much as she was willing to touch on it now, and he had to accept that.

“That being said,” she started up again, “we are both adults now. All I wanted on Friday was a chance to have a real discussion with you, not another argument. And I won’t tolerate you speaking to me like that again.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“I… I don’t know. I had been wondering if there was any way we could rectify this,” she gestured between them, “whatever it is, into friendship. But I think that was idealistic of me. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would have wanted that too.”

His heart began to sink unexpectedly, and he did his best to hide any disappointment in his face.

What in the Maker was this? Just yesterday he had dismissed Cassandra’s calls for friendship between them.

But now, in front of her, seeing how she was dealing with the many terrible situations that had occurred between them…

 _You were wrong about her_.

“Is it going to bother you if I continue getting to know your circle of friends?”

“No,” he answered truthfully. “It might take me a while to get used to it, but it’s my problem to deal with. I don’t want to take them away from you.”

 She smiled. “That’s a relief. They’re really the only people I know here outside of work.” The smile faded, giving way to an unfamiliar look of melancholy. “Even if friendship isn’t in the cards for us, I’d like it if we could be civil. Warm acquaintances, perhaps?”

Her eyes gleamed with a sad optimism, and he felt his heart tighten at the sight of it.

 _You were wrong about her_.

“I can do that,” he agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloody hell this chapter was difficult! Sorry for the wait. This was a real challenge to write, and I also had all my deadlines for university. But that's all done now, and so is this chapter (mostly)!
> 
> I might go back and edit a few things here and there, but mostly I'm happy with it, and I hope you are happy with it too.


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